


Gravity

by objectivity



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Gangs, Gen, Japan, Japanese Culture, Mystery, Romance, Tokyo (City), Yakuza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectivity/pseuds/objectivity
Summary: Sora's last chance at normalcy has been thrown out the window.Reason One:Takeru's dead.Reason Two:She's been caught sneaking into her ex's home.Reason Three:The yakuza is now affiliated with her.She blames Yamato for all the above. Thanks to him her life in shambles once again... but why can't she seem to keep away?**CHAPTER THREE NOW UP**
Relationships: Ichijouji Ken/Inoue Miyako | Yolei Inoue, Ishida Yamato | Matt Ishida/Takenouchi Sora, Tachikawa Mimi/Yagami Taichi | Tai Kamiya
Kudos: 11





	1. unsuspicious

His mood was stilled, confused.

When he had returned, the temptation to dive back-first into his cosy blankets, and to sink into the inviting depths of his mattress was non-existent. Sprawling onto his bed was warranted after what he had dealt with. However, if he were to lie down, he knew he wouldn't get up again. Lying down meant he'd have to admit how devastated he was and, well, he wasn't ready for that.

Not yet...not _ever._

He had opted for the seat by the computer desk; his common position. The place where he felt the most useful.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he couldn't bring himself to move them. _No._ He could _not_ lose grip. If he let himself sink any deeper, everything else would crumble around him. He _had_ to keep going. People relied on him and- _but you can't help the dead, can you?_

" _Fuck_!"

He slammed his fists onto the desk. His neck craned downwards and it was then that he caught the navy, striped satin that dipped in his line of vision. He still hadn't changed out of his formal wear? Loosening the tie, he undid it and he threw it away.

Running his fingers through his hair, he was not all surprised that the gel (his mother had insisted him put on that morning) hadn't kept his hair in place. His hairstyle was back to its disheveled form - if _only_ his life was like that.

A week ago, he had been laughing about winning that basketball bet against his junior. Now he knew he would never experience that feeling again. Perhaps he should have gone to sleep after all. The emptiness was debilitating. How long had he been sitting there, in that very same fixed position? Time was unforgiving. Outside of the window, it teased darkness. The sun was out the last time he had checked. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. When was the last time he had done that? Everything had been moving face-paced until then, and one incident that week had to ruin it all.

He kept staring at the ceiling that toyed with his thoughts.

And maybe because it was too quiet, Koushiro noted unfamiliar footsteps gradually grew louder. It dragged him out of his momentary grief. Each step had a steady staccato rhythm that echoed against the floorboards. It lacked his mother's graceful stride, nor was it the arthritic-induced limping gait of his father's.

His parents...were they safe? How foolish he was! He would have heard something if they had been attacked. His room was near the living area, he wouldn't have missed it. He kicked himself though, for being too idiotic to not keep monitoring the CCTV, despite the sorry state he was in. There was no time to put himself in a vulnerable position. Perhaps he should contact the tiger-

_Knock, knock._

Immediately, he flipped open the second drawer and reached for the grip. As he usually was behind a screen, his methods were never violence-driven. Those methods belonged to the boys, but never him. However, whenever pushed to a corner, he knew how to protect himself and he'd do what he have to do.

Cautiously standing up, he pointed the gun at the door.

 _Knock._ Pause. _Knock, knock._ Pause. _Knock, knock, knock, knock._

His shoulders dropped at the sound. No, the person wasn't a trespasser. No trespasser would ever knock in the peculiar pattern.

...only Sora did that.

"Just get in there, Sora dear!" His mother called out, confirming his thoughts.

Before the door knob rotated, he quickly threw the gun back into the drawer and closed it shut. He barely managed to sit on his seat when she ambled in.

Of course, the first thing she did was turn the lights on.

He then saw her, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows at him in an odd manner. "Koushiro-kun you weren't doing anything suspicious, were you?"

"God no!" he groaned.

That was the problem with old childhood friends - especially when they were female. Then again, Sora was probably the only female childhood friend he had.

She was a pretty one too. Not in the way that she'd wear expensive dresses, put on freakishly tall heels, or cake her face up with make-up. She was never like that. Her taste was minimal. Even then, she wore a black beanie, grey denim jeans and a white shirt. Dull colours, but Sora was nothing but dull. Her tanned skin, lively eyes and bright smile, she naturally made the mood better whenever they'd hang out.

Koushiro observed the silver-glossed, metallic luggage behind her.

He commented, "You're either back or you ran away from home?"

Instead of replying straight away, Sora rushed over to him and enveloped him in a hug. It was warm; and it felt good. In fact, it was the warmest he had felt all day. She let go of him seconds later and wandered backwards, collapsing onto his bed. It was a good thing that a couple of days ago, he had stashed his porn mags away. Sora already had enough blackmail on him to last a lifetime.

"I'm back. Thought I'd drop by yours first since your place was on the way," she said, manoeuvring her body towards the edge of the bed. "Miss me?"

Koushiro smiled. "Yeah."

How long had it been? A year? Two? She had moved to Kyoto to work at this botany lab. After years of helping with her family-owned florist, she had developed an interest for plants and their properties.

"Why are you dressed up?" she asked him, only noticing then that he was not donned in his typical attire that consisted of slacks and plain shirts.

" _Uh_ -"

"And your eyes are red. Have you been on the computer too long? Haven't I told you that it's nice to get some sunlight once in a while? We're not plants, but we need to photosynthesise too!" Sora sighed, getting up. "Let's catch up over some oolong tea at the cafe nearby?"

"How are we going to absorb sunlight by transferring to a cafe?" Koushiro couldn't help but remark.

"Don't turn me down. I _know_ how much you like your oolong tea." She brushed him off. "Let's go. I'll pay. You know what they say...free things taste better when you're not paying."

"I-I don't really feel like it." He had to smile at her efforts though. His parents had already given up, but Sora was really trying hard to cheer his mood. Koushiro actually already had a year's supply of oolong tea in the kitchen's cabinet.

"You're being silly," she insisted. "I'm going to turn off your computer and then we're going to head out. Wait, this screen isn't on, it's already off. Oh-the same goes for this one! Actually, none of them are on...what's wrong, Koushiro?"

By then she was already gazing at him, frowning. Sora had always been the most observant one out of his friends - and he knew, that from the look on her eyes, that she could tell he was hiding something from her. He gulped. She inched closer, and when her face was right in front of his, nose almost touching his, he used his computer desk to and the wheels on his chair to push himself further away from her.

However, what he did _not_ anticipate that the piece of paper - he had on his lap the whole time - to slip off.

His eyes widened when he dove for it, but Sora's reflexes had always been faster. She pivoted her whole body so that she used her body as a barrier to prevent him from snatching it from her. Kourisho only could apprehensively watch on, witnessing as she processed the piece of paper before her.

It didn't take her long to realise what the paper was referencing...

Sora gasped, hands covering over her mouth, body trembling. Her face turned a shade paler, and tears threatened to fall down from her eyes. She shook her head, passing the paper back to Koushiro, holding onto the surface of desk to steady herself.

Koushiro frowned down at the piece of paper in his hands. The words ' _in loving memory_ ' was the printed text that caught his eye, followed by the person's birth year to the current one. It was something unbearable that Koushiro wasn't sure he could ever accept. What was worse was the image that was selected; the photo was taken when the kid was in his late teen years, wearing a basketball jersey and giving a wide, toothy grin to the camera.

" _Takeru_?" her voice broke. "This can't be true. How? _Why_?"

Koushiro had been in a state of denial, but he knew he had to tell her. He loathed every moment of it. Relaying the details to Sora out loud made everything seem real again. It was a reality he didn't like speaking of.

"I _need_ to see him."

"Sora, the last viewing at their house was this morning."

Something told Koushiro that she didn't care. Her eyes were focused, jaw taut. Even if he tried to talk sense into her, he knew that she wouldn't listen. She was too stubborn for her own good.

"No. I'm going to see him one last time."

He didn't even bother to call out when she turned away and stormed out of his room. Her luggage remained at the doorway. He knew she'd come back for it, but that wasn't what was important right then.

Koushiro leaned back onto his chair. He pondered whether it was best to call Wolf. He really didn't want to. Wolf hadn't been in the best state of mind, granted the current situation. However, if he wasn't warned, Sora could be in potential danger.

Sighing, Koushiro dialled Wolf's number. After the third attempt, he gave up and called Tiger. He rolled his eyes when Tiger didn't pick up, but instead of texting Wolf he thought it was best to inform Tiger instead:

_Incoming. Takenouchi Sora. Female. Mid twenties. Red hair. Athletic build. Friend with the deceased and old acquaintances with Wolf. Reinforcements not needed. Subject is not a threat._

As soon as the text was sent, Koushiro received an instant reply from Tiger. _'_ _Is she hot?'_ Koushiro snorted when he read the text, he tossed his phone onto the desk. Ironic that he did not bother to answer the call, but could text back. What was he expecting though?

Either way, Koushiro _knew_ he was screwed.

Wolf wasn't going to be happy about the upcoming interference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted this on fanfiction.net a week ago. amidst the crazy, it had to be written. hope you enjoy it :)


	2. lilies & tobacco

White lilies.

They were the first, appropriate flowers to catch Sora's eye. She seized the clear, cellophane-wrapped bouquet from the display and immediately bolted for the exit of the store. She yelled over her shoulder, "See you in a bit. No need to worry. I'll pay you back, ma!" From behind the timber counter, her mother had half-opened her mouth to greet her daughter, but in an instant Sora had already rushed out of the florist.

Sora couldn't recall the last time she had felt this panicked, this exasperated with anxiety. The anticipated calm and leisurable stroll down her hometown had done a one-eighty. She was now stuck in a spiral of stress. If she hadn't taken a detour to Koushiro's, she wouldn't be experiencing this.

Then again, if she hadn't dropped by her friend's place...just _when_ would she have found out about Takeru?

She wouldn't say she was close to him; but he had once upon a time been like a brother to her.

During her teenage years, every Tuesday and Wednesday night was dedicated to babysitting and tutoring Takeru. He was her off-the-side job, and her second source of pocket money when she wasn't helping out her parents at the florist. She'd argue with him, confiscating his gaming devices to get him to fall asleep. He'd debate why English and Japanese were more entertaining subjects, as opposed to how dry Mathematics was ( _It's soooo boring, onee-chan! Why does there have to be a definite answer? Life isn't like that!_ ). And sometimes, if Takeru was well-behaved and finished his homework on time, Sora would brew them some hot chocolate, throw a blanket over their laps, and pop on a basketball game. She had kept an eye on him for almost three years and, according to Ms Takaishi, was the longest babysitter that had stuck around because he apparently ' _scared off'_ the other sitters. Sora could see why.

The first time she had met him, he had been a spoilt brat, a darn nuisance. He was an angel in disguise, innocent-looking but the devil incarnate. Whenever his mother would step foot outside of the home, Takeru would cry until he'd get whatever he wanted. After a few babysitting sessions, Sora then discovered he had been keeping unpeeled onion shallots in his pockets. In other words, the kid had played her the whole time because he was in charge of triggering his own tears on command.

Sora didn't let it go. When she called him out on it, she immediately saw the evil glint in the kid's eye, and a mischievous smirk that curved on his lips. He had been testing her...which triggered Sora to scold him further on. And, maybe, because Sora did not turn a blind eye to his cheekiness, Takeru eventually developed a certain level of respect. He warmed up to her because she hadn't left him, like the previous babysitters had.

_"Onee-chan, you're actually kind of funny."_

_"What do you mean by that?" She had tilted her head to the side, staring at him from across the kitchen table._

_Takeru had stopped trying to solve the simple algebra equation, pencil forgotten and resting on top of the exercise book. It had meant Takeru was getting antsy, and was in search of any excuse to not do his homework._

_"You know…." Takeru had replied off-handedly. He readjusted his cap, scratching the back of his neck._

_"No, I don't," she had replied. The conversations she had with the kid never failed to amuse her. She wondered what he'd say and do to get out of studying. "Specify what you mean, TK."_

_"It's funny because you know everything about flowers, but the thing is-" Takeru had paused to smirk. It was like he already knew he was going to get into trouble for what he was going to say._

_Sora had repeated, "The thing is?"_

_"-you sit like a guy."_

_"Oh, is that so?" Sora had said, struggling to keep a straight face for the wrath she was about to unleash on him. "So you won't be offended if I hit like a guy too, right?"_

_"Huh? What do you mean by that-AGH! Don't hit me!"_

_They had tackled on the floor after that, until Takeru had to tap out to get Sora to stop messing up his strawy-blond hair. They sat on the kitchen floor, breathless, and laughing so hard at each other that tears had actually run down their faces._

Sora gritted her teeth, sprinting down the pavement. _No._ He _couldn't_ be dead. Not like this. So what if many people perished in the fire at _Decks_? Takeru was an athlete. It was impossible. He would have been able to make it out alive!

"You're right. He _would_ have, Sora-" Koushiro had told her, "-but the last time he was seen, he was helping out an old lady get down a flight of stairs…"

_Damn Takeru and his good intentions!_

Her sneakers felt looser. She glimpsed down and saw that her shoelaces had become undone. They would have to wait. She _had_ to get to Takeru's house.

The humidity was thick, and her lungs were burning. She could taste salt on her lips, but she didn't stop to wipe the layer of perspiration running down her face. Or were they her tears? She didn't know. Her heart was shattering in her chest. If she stood still, it would eat her up more. She had to see it with her own eyes if Takeru was really gone.

_Gone?_

Sora shuddered. It was something she didn't want to believe.

She was panting by the time she had arrived at her destination. Sora had forgotten how far the Takaishi's home was from hers. Now that she thought about it, she had taken the bus to get to the Takaishi residence. Unlike all the apartments that populated most of Odaiba, this was the only area that consisted of one-story homes - the richer side of town that was situated next to the bay. Dim lights aligned the street, lighting up the quiet area. When she had left the florist, the sun had still been up...and now it was hanging low, touching the horizon.

Dark orange inked the water. It almost felt eerie.

Then again, maybe it was because the last time Sora had been there...she had flung the metal gates, walking out of the front yard in tears. The irony was that she had now returned, and still tears were spilling from the corner of her eyes.

It wasn't like she had been planning to come back here, but it also wasn't like she was planning for Takeru to die either...

Sora had come this far, but now her stomach tumbled and she wanted to turn back and walk away. She stared hard at the home. Over the years, the garden seemed to have withered. It hadn't been taken care of. The rose bushes were dried up. Paint peeled from the fence, while there was an array of moss and rust that scattered the rooftop. The place that once had been well-maintained was now close to unrecognisable.

She couldn't ignore the light that teased behind the door though. Sora guessed that Takeru's mother or Yamato was probably home. She didn't know who else it would be. Takeru's father was never in the picture for as long as she had known the Takaishis. It was a taboo topic that she had dared to not talk about to any of the family, as there was not a single photo of him in the residence, nor none of them had willingly brought Mr Takaishi up in conversation.

Taking a deep breath, she quietly unlatched the gate and tip-toed across the pebbled footpath to the front door.

She knocked.

When nobody answered a minute later, she pressed the doorbell. She didn't hear the ringing inside the house. Perhaps the doorbell had run out of battery? Although it had been years since Sora had been there, she remembered the distinct tune's jingle.

Sora knocked again.

And again.

After the fifth series of knocking, and possibly inflicting the neighbours with headaches, Sora gave up. She inched closer, peering through the door's small window.

It was blurry. Although she couldn't see clearly into the house, she noted the yellow glow at the end of the hallway. The lounge was lit up; which meant there had to be somebody inside. And, as she pressed her ear against the door, she could hear the faint sound of music which confirmed her hypothesis.

She curled her fingers into a fist, rattling her hand onto the door.

_Nothing._

Sora frowned. As she was about to turn to leave, her feet stopped her from moving away. She _had_ to see Takeru. That was the purpose; why she had made the effort to go all this way. Her gaze drifted to the side, realising that her head was angled towards Takeru's old room. How many times she had seen him throw the curtains aside to wave at her, or when he'd pass her pencil, cellphone, bag, or any of her belongings she'd forget, through the window.. _.the window_.

It was never locked.

Although all the windows were locked, she remembered Takeru chattering on how he was a genius for breaking the latch to the window, and how his mother knew it when he'd sneak out. Would it be still…

Before she gathered any second thoughts, Sora was already edging towards Takeru's old room. Inside, it was pitch-black. However, the closer she got, she could hear that the music became louder. It was something jazzy, an assembly of dysfunctional notes that floated together to produce a peculiar melody. It was Takeru's taste in music, something Sora could never get her head around why a kid fancied old, instrumental jazz.

As she kept listening, she skimmed her fingers across the glass. There was a reason why the music was more audible to her...the window was slightly agape.

She glanced around her. Nobody was there to witness her break in. Sora wasn't going to _really trespass_ , was she? This house belonged to her friend. When she'd get in, she'd see one of Takeru's family members and they'd be fine with her being there. It wasn't like she was a complete stranger. And technically, it was open - therefore meaning that she was _permitted_ to enter the household...right?

Sora quietly slid the window to the side and carefully dropped the bouquet into the room. Now that there was enough space to access, she sucked in her breath and used her upper body strength to propel herself into the bedroom. Sora landed softly onto her feet, feeling proud with herself for not having made a sound.

In the dark, she felt around for her bearings. The bed, _yes._..that's it. The desk. _Ouch._ Of course there's a darn basketball on the floor! Light seeped from under the door. She finally made it. Pushing the door open, she-

" _Oomph_!"

The wind was knocked out of her as a hard body shoved her down. She was too caught off guard to let out a scream, a plea for help. A cold chill radiated through her body.

Pulse pounding, she tried to get up, to crawl away. Her hands were suddenly yanked behind her back, followed with a knee crushing them down onto her back. She grimaced at the impact as she tried to fight herself out of the position. The attacker wouldn't give; and Sora knew that he wasn't intending to show her any mercy.

Normally Sora had no trouble escaping, but the attacker's grasp was firm. He _had_ to be a professional. She might be caught, but she wasn't going down without a fight. After all the years of training, she wasn't going to let it go to waste. At least stealing a glance from her attacker would prove useful at some point. That is, if she were to escape...

Steadying her breathing, Sora shifted her head towards the side to get a view on her attacker. That was when her vision disappeared. The attacker had pulled her beanie over her eyes.

He flipped her around, wincing when her back connected to the floorboards. A weight fell over her - the _asshole_ was straddling her!

Though she couldn't see the attacker, she knew it had to be a man. He had the build of one, and he was definitely much stronger. She had felt his biceps when he pushed her onto her back. A pinch of tobacco and gunpowder. Who knew what the crazy man was after? The last thing she wanted was for the man to have his way with her. There was no way in hell she was going to let that happen.

Sora needed to get out of there... _fast._

She squirmed, trying to shuffle out of his grip. Sora hissed, trying to slap his arms out of the way, but found that she still couldn't move.

"Who are you?" A familiar voice demanded. It was a voice she knew way too well. She began to tremble. No, this _couldn't_ be right.

"I don't care if you are female. You _will_ answer my questions even if I have to force it out of you." The man continued to ruthlessly interrogate, " _Who_ do you work for? Kazui?"

When Sora didn't answer, she felt something sharp against her neck.

Why was this happening to her? Takeru's dead, and now she has to deal with _this_? The way the man spoke unnerved her. This was unlike him. This wasn't the person she knew...

"Answer me!"

The pressure of the knife to her neck increased. If she gave him more time, the knife would certainly slice through her skin. So she bit her bottom lip, scrunching her toes and finally gained the courage to speak up.

" _Matt.._."

As soon as she did, he thrust the knife away from her neck. She heard it clatter in the distance. His body was off her and it was then that Sora could see again.

Her guess was right.

Yamato was standing before her, looking down at her as he held onto her beanie. His azure eyes were contorted with promised wrath, and with each breath he'd take, the anger slowly dissipated. He had recognised her, and from the way he kept staring down at her, she could tell that her ex-boyfriend was far from impressed.

"Why are you here, Sora?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> ~~( & yes, yamato is Sora's ex)~~


	3. only lies

"Why are you here, Sora?"

Tremors of pain echoed down her spine. As soon as he had released her from his hold, Sora had scuttled across the timber flooring, back crashing against the hallway wall. She couldn't bear to stand. The mere thought of standing sounded laboursome. Her energy was depleted and her breathing was shallow. She pressed both of her sweaty palms onto the ground, supporting her from falling into a deeper state of shock.

From the corner of her eye, she could still glimpse the kitchen knife gleaming in the weak lighting. She shuddered, remembering the feeling of the blade against her neck. If Yamato had put more pressure into his grip, her throat would have been sliced open. Who the hell was Kazui? Although Yamato had mistaken her for somebody else - hadn't he been overreacting? If Sora hadn't called out his name, she was certain he wouldn't have hesitated to eliminate her.

" _Well_?"

His voice was hard, jaw taut and scowl forming. A reunion of this sort was something Sora was least expecting. Initially, her fear from the surprise-attack had paralysed her, but Yamato's uncalled-for attitude made waves of anger flare up in her veins.

Her cheeks were flushed as she irritatedly replied, "Why do you _think_ I'm here?"

"You need to go."

Crossing his arms, Yamato looked away. The irony was that, even after years of haven't seeing him, his exasperating traits remained. How long had it been? Four years - _no,_ definitely over half a decade. They had been eighteen when he had called it quits, with no proper reason and no proper explanation. Just lies - _only_ lies. Another exasperating trait of his that was the source of countless arguments. And, even now, Yamato was _still_ closing her off.

"I'm not here for you," she fumed.

And it was true.

She wasn't there to deal with her ex's bullshit; she was there for Takeru.

Sora stood up, thankful that her feeling had returned back to her wobbly legs. She lifted her chin and strode forward, shoving Yamato as she walked past him. In seconds she was greeted with an arm stretching from one side of the doorway to the other, loosely barricading her entrance.

Yamato glared at her, blue eyes blazing. He hissed, "I suggest that you leave."

She evaded him, bobbing under his arm to enter the space. Sora heard him let out a deep sigh, but she didn't care. Yamato knew how important Takeru was to her, and there was no way in hell that she was going to allow him to stop seeing his brother for the last time.

The cozy living room had transformed to an empty wake.

Less than twenty folding chairs lined up the tiny room in an orderly fashion. The television stand had transformed into a makeshift altar. An identical photo from the piece of paper, that Sora had seen at Koushiro's, was framed and sitting upright on the centre of the altar. Vases of many kinds of flowers lit up the dreary atmosphere. It reminded Sora of how she had left her own bouquet in Takeru's bedroom...but that didn't matter now.

One shaky foot at a time, Sora made her way to the altar. Her eyes prickled when she saw the deep-green urn.

_Takeru's ashes..._

A cry was caught in her throat. How was this fair?

She clapped her hands together, bowing her head. Sora pleaded, she willed herself to be composed...but it hurt, it was hurting her so much. Her heart clenched, breathing more strained, and before she knew she couldn't contain the sobs that escaped her.

Sora hauled herself onto the closest chair. She hadn't wanted to break down, not like this, and _especially_ not in front of Yamato. She didn't cry often, but the thought of no longer seeing Takeru's smiling face, hearing his creative jokes combined with his cackling laughter - it was _too_ much to handle. His personality was so vivid, so vibrant that the thought of him not breathing did not seem the closest thing to real.

It was when the jazz song seized playing, Sora woke up from her trance. She didn't know how long she had been there, sitting, staring blankly at Takeru's photo. She rubbed the half dried-up tears from her eyes as common sense gradually began to kick into her system.

Sora had overstayed her time there. She had intruded the Takaishi household after hours, she was imposing on Yamato's presence, and soon enough her own parents would get the police involved to initiate a search party for her if she didn't make it home before midnight.

As much as she wanted to leave without saying a word, the manners that her parents had drilled into her wouldn't let her. She may have been petty, she may have shoved Yamato aside, but it didn't sit well with her to just leave without a word. Besides, as much as she didn't want to have anything to deal with her ex, Takeru was still his young brother...and she had robbed Yamato of his silent night of mourning.

Questions flooded her mind, but as curious as she was, she knew that she would receive no answers from Yamato. He was good withholding information, even to her. The many lies she had heard him spew out, the many times fought with him about opening up...he only told her what he wanted to.

Plucking up her courage, she swivelled to where she had last seen Yamato. She frowned at the empty space where she had last seen him. He was probably a mile away now. She sighed. Who knew when she'd ever see him again?

Since the kitchen was connected to the dining room, Sora surveyed the empty bottles of Shiraz, a photo-album opened a quarter in, and a basketball jersey - _Takeru's_ basketball jersey. When had Yamato dug them up? Where was Natsuko? Why was Yamato by himself?

She discarded the bottles, tidying up the kitchen bench. Her hand hovered over the photo album. More images of a younger Takeru and Yamato flashed before her eyes. She closed the album shut.

Sora's fringe suddenly fell over her eyes. She needed to find her beanie before she'd leave. Her bed-hair needed to be kept at bay from the bird's nest of a hairstyle she currently had.

Exiting the living room, she retraced her steps down the hallway to where Yamato had tackled her to the ground. No...her beanie wasn't there.

As Sora was about to make her way to the front door, she glimpsed that Takeru's room was open. Maybe because she initially had been too engrossed with sneaking into Takeru's room, Sora had forgotten that his ceiling was decorated with lime glow-in-the-dark stars. She gave a sad smile as she stared up, admiring the blanket of neon specks.

"When are you taking them down, Takeru?" she had asked him.

He furiously had shaken his head at her. "No way Sora! I'm _never_ taking them down. They were a present for me when I turned six."

"From who?"

"Yamato." The thirteen year-old had widely grinned at her, not the slightest bit ashamed that he continued to still keep the childish decor above his head. "He put the stars up there for me."

_He put the stars up there for me..._

That said person was currently lying on the bed. She lingered at the end of the bed, watching him quietly. His eyes were shut tight, an earphone occupying each ear. The wires looped to his right side, twisting down and hooking up to a familiar mustard discman. The discman was something that was always by his side, an irreplaceable object that he never left home without.

A whirlwind of memories clustered in her mind.

_Listening to music from that very same discman together before class, passing notes to each other in the classroom, eating ice-cream together, him sniggering whenever Takeru stacked it on the basketball court, her watching him practice fiddling with the guitar, him dropping by the florist to buy flowers from her (and then giving them back to her as a gift), their first kiss, their first everythings, him pushing her on the swings, firefly watching, cherry blossom festivals, her homemade curry giving him severe food-poisoning, getting tangled in the bedsheets..._

_Eighteen._ That was the last time she had seen Yamato in the flesh. Back then he had a lean build, dusty ash-blond hair that almost touched his shoulders, and a permanent smirk that tugged at his lips. He was different now. His physique was taller, shoulders wider and broader, with his hair cropped in a shorter crew-style cut. It was easy for her to spot the difference, especially when the fitted black shirt he wore hardly hid the muscle mass that he had gained over the years. He wasn't too burly, but she could tell he looked after himself - or _not..._

Her eyes narrowed when she noted the scratches and old scars that were visible on his skin.

There was a fresh gash above his eyebrow, and there were patches of bruising on his right hand. Yamato's skin had been flawless. His skin had been something that even she had envied. But where had all these injuries come from? How had he sustained them? What had he been doing?

"How long are you going to stand there staring?"

The hardness in his voice was gone. His tone was softer, raw. His face was gaunt, eyes swollen. Even when they were together, Sora had never seen Yamato in such a fragile state. Partly because he would _never_ let her. His cheeks were pink, and she suddenly recalled the empty bottles of Shiraz. Had Yamato finished them by himself?

Damn it, she was meant to be mad at him. She had torrents of stored-up rage that she had kept dormant in the back-burner. And now, when she was ready to unleash these years of fury onto him...she _couldn't_ do it. The resentment had sizzled away. Yamato was hurt, and it only felt natural to comfort him because she had never witnessed him like this - this _broken._

As much as Sora willed herself to leave, her body advanced towards himself instead. She found herself innately drawn in before she could stop herself. He silently watched her as she sat on the bed, and then lied down next to him.

He tensed up when she placed an arm around his waist. His blue eyes found hers, shocked and bemused as Sora took one of the earphones off him, placing it into her own ear. A pattern, a habit that they always used to do. Sora let out a sigh when he rested his chin on the top of her head. His walls were down. It was a rare occasion for Yamato to _actually_ let her near him.

Music leaked into her ears. Jazz. One of Takeru's CDs. Yamato often complained about how Takeru's music taste resembled an old man's, and yet he was listening to it - he had been listening to it while lying on his brother's bed. He was grieving, like how she was. And, despite the odds, Sora was glad he wasn't pushing her away. It was like they had turned back time, when they were teenagers, foolish and head over heels. The embrace was different, but it was warm...and it belonged to him - the boy she used to love.

"He's gone," Yamato choked, "and now...now you're here-"

She tugged him closer, the particles in her body tingling as she pressed herself against his warm body. She gazed up, fingers lightly trailing down the side of his face. His face flinched, when she rested her hand on his cheek. Stale tobacco, red wine, and gunpowder tickled her senses. The tobacco and wine, she understood...but _gunpowder?_ She moved her hand upwards, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Sora gave a soft smile when she discovered that the same miniature mole dotted the top of his left ear. However, the smile immediately disappeared when her hand traced down his neck and discovered something she wished she hadn't seen. Her fingers stilled.

"What's _this_?" She dared to ask, already knowing the answer.

 **家族**?

Her eyes studied the intricate dark-grey symbols that crawled from his left shoulder and ran up to the base of his neck. Sora's pulse quickened when she realised that it was permanent. Her fingers skimmed over his skin, hoping the ink would smudge off. She translated the kanji, " _Kazoku_?"

Yamato shifted into defence mode. His sombre eyes were gone, replaced with quiet fierceness. He suddenly had her wrist in a firm hold, preventing her from moving away.

"Did you join?" She stuttered, "I can't _believe_ this! How _could_ you?"

"So what are you going to do?" His tone was glacial as he sneered at her, "Call the authorities on me, Sora?"

She never got to reply because, out of nowhere, a male voice interrupted them.

"What a compromising position to see you in Wolf-man!" The stranger commented, which was then continued with a low whistle when Sora threw herself off Yamato. "Ah _,_ so _this_ is Miss Takenouchi _?"_

On the other hand, Yamato propped himself up into a sitting position, back leaning onto the bedhead. He glared past her, scowling at the stranger who had walked in on them. "What the _fuck_ do you want, Tiger?"

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*kazoku: family_
> 
> thanks for reading :)


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